


your love would be too much

by hawkeyelover



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Feels, Hate Crimes, Hate Speech, Kidnapping, NYC is adopting Miles Morales, Police Brutality, Suicide Attempt, will add more as we go along - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 19:31:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeyelover/pseuds/hawkeyelover
Summary: Five times Miles saves the citizens of NYC, and the one time they return the favor.





	1. itsy bitsy spider

**Author's Note:**

> Classic five+one fic. Trigger warnings for hate crimes, violence, and language.

_“--please, please. I just want my son back.” A young woman sobbed, her blonde hair in a disheveled bun and her shoulders shaking._

_“We are calling out to the citizens of Brooklyn tonight to watch out for a missing boy matching the photo. Please, if you have any information, contact the anonymous police hotline below.”_

Rio Morales shut the TV off with shaking hands. Dios mio. That poor woman. Unless you were a mom, you could never truly understand the bond between mother and child. This animal instinct, this divine right of a mother to protect her offspring. She couldn’t help but glance back at Miles’ room, and, well, it couldn’t hurt to check on him one last time before her shift started.

She padded softly through the hallway and peeked through the cracked door. Her child lay sound asleep in a wad of blankets, surrounded by paper and markers. Rio huffed softly and carefully picked away at the mess, and rearranged the blankets to tuck him in properly. She closed her eyes, and remembered.

 

* * *

_“Okay, papacito, last one and then to bed! Okay?,” a baby faced Miles Morales nodded eagerly and outstretched tiny hands. Rio giggled at his enthusiasm, marveling at her beautiful child-- bouncy airy curls from his father and his mother’s eyes._

_They had tried so hard for a baby. Years of doctor’s appointments, clinics, and keeping track of the calendar had amounted to nothing but sheer frustration, desperation, and an empty crib. She had lost count of the amount of times she would sit in the empty nursery (in that small excuse for a first apartment) and cling and sob into stuffed animals meant for a child she was told she couldn’t have._

_Jeff took it almost as hard, but he was so strong for her. So strong ( “Hell, we’ll adopt if we have to! There are so kids who need homes, mi pajarita.”) They had just about given up on adding a new member to the Morales family._

_And then. And then it was two in the morning and Rio was squatting over her hundred and fifth pregnancy stick. The waiting was routine, and she braced herself for another lonely, single pink line. And then. Not one line--but two. For a moment, she did nothing stare. Suddenly, she burst into body-wracking sobs, wailing, and Jeff burst through the bathroom door._

_“Rio! Baby! Are you okay?” His eyes caught the stick clutched in her hands and he softened for lack of a better term, hands sliding down from where they gripped the doorway. “Sweetheart. It’s okay. Here, let me throw that--” Her husband’s hands catching her own petite ones and she ripped away from him._

_“No! Jeff. . .look.” Through her tears, she managed a grin, and swiped a hand over her cheeks. “Look.” Jeff watched her dubiously, stance wary. Cautious of hoping, but looking anyway. He stumbled and sat down on the cracked tile, hard. And when the love of her life looked up at her, he had tears in his eyes._

_And then Miles, her gift from God himself, her little miracle, came into her life, and filled with her up with so much love she didn’t know how it could all possibly fit inside her._

_“Ready, mi bello?”_

_“Si!”_

_Rio smiled at her little miracle and began to sing._

_“La araña pequeñita subió, subió, subió._

_Vino la lluvia y se la llevó._

_Salió el sol y todo lo secó._

_Y la araña pequeñita subió, subió, subió!”_

 

* * *

  
And well, if she pressed her lips to his head for a little longer than usual, who could blame her?

  
~*~

He listened for the sound of the door shutting, and his mami’s footsteps fading. Faking his deep even breaths had proven rather difficult--especially since he had been wearing his fucking spider suit under the covers. The boy could only be grateful that his mother had been intent on covering him up more instead of clearing his bed entirely.

Miles exhaled loudly, and kicked off his comforter, reaching under his pillow for his mask. And as he perched on his windowsill, pulling the face of his alter-ego, he looked up to the reaching towers and thought--

_I’ll make you proud, mami._

* * *

 

“I--I don’t _know_ sir, he was-- I was-- he was just there! Out of nowhere!”

“Is he injured?”

“N-no, sir! Not a scratch on him! The paramedics say he was a little hungry, a little dehydrated, but otherwise perfectly fine.”

“Has the boy said anything? Described his assailants?”

The young officer hesitated. “Well, he’s _four_ , sir.”

  
The chief of police burst through the double doors of the police precinct entrance, where a multitude of emergency vehicles, curious and baffled citizens, and news anchors are parked together out in front of the steps.

The young, distraught mother that had featured on the news all week was now crying for an entirely different reason. A small boy, with equally golden hair shining under the streetlamp light, was cradled in her arms, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at all the pretty flashing lights.

“Who brought him in?” The chief barked. The younger man jolted back, glancing over his shoulder nervously at the reporters clamoring to get a statement. “You see, sir, that’s just it...someone pounded at the doors, and the boy was there, but no one else was!”

“So what, a ghost?” The man scoffed. Then he narrowed his eyes at the small child who gurgled an odd word happily over and over. “What’s that he’s saying? Reyna? Rana?”

“Uh, araña, sir. It’s spanish.”

“So what the hell does it mean?” The older man scanned the gathered people, the flashes of cameras reflecting off his glasses. He could have sworn he saw some kind of transparent shape at the edge of the crowd. He wiped his glasses down with his sleeve, and when he looked up it was no longer there.

“Spider, sir. It means spider.” 


	2. yellow bird, don’t fly away

_I should have asked my friend to walk with me._

Was the only thought in Maya’s head, playing over and over again. She’d stayed late at her job, and had missed the bus. Sure, the streets were safer under the watchful eyes of the new Spider-Man, but even the wall crawler himself could not be everywhere at once. No matter what city, walking alone at night was never safe for any woman—much less a Muslim woman. If she had a dollar for every time someone stared at her for the hijab wrapped around her head, she’d have enough money to not be drowning in her medical school bills.

The young woman snorted to herself with the thought, and all joviality was lost upon the sound of a group of men making their way down the sidewalk, direction opposite hers, towards her. _Oh god. They’re coming this way. Should I turn around? That seems kind of weird though. I knew I should have bought pepper spray._ But Maya was anything but a fighter, as she was a practicing pacifist. Conflict and confrontation gave her anxiety.

In her own small ramblings, she failed to notice that the men had most definitely taken notice of her. _Allah_ protect her.

Maya passed them with no problem, but she could feel the heat of their stares on her back. She walked a little faster.

_“Hey, hey!”_

_“Come on, where you goin’?”_

_“She’s got one of those fucking things on her head!”_

_“Fucking terrorist!”_

She broke into a run, and the sound of multiple footsteps thudded behind her as they continued to jeer.

“Go back to where the fuck you came from!”

“Careful, she might have a bomb in her bag—let’s find out!”

No, no, no. The girl made a sharp turn around what looked to be an apartment building, hoping to lose them, but they stumbled after her, hellhounds at her feet, snapping and snarling and laughing hysterically. And as it would happen to be, she was cornered back against a fence and between two buildings.

“Please leave me alone!” Maya tried to shout and only succeeded in whimpering the statement. Her hands curled around the wire of the fence, and she tried to gain a foothold but her bag was heavy and she was wearing sandals and her hands were sweating—

A hand grabbed the back of her hijab and yanked, _hard_ , and she screamed, slipping down, hitting the ground and the man above her ripped the scarf from her head. Her dark hair tumbled out, flowing down her shoulders, and she yelped as her assailant’s strong grip yanked a few strands of her hair out. She was so close she could smell the beer on his breath, see the hairs of the scruff on his chin, and the glint of his eyes.

“Please let go! You’re hurting me!” She wailed, close to sobbing and the shame of a man she didn’t know seeing her hair burnt a blush into her cheeks.

The rest of the pack hooted and shouted their enthusiasm, tripping over themselves. “I’ll show you what America does to terrorists, you bitch!”

He reared a fist back, and Maya cringed back squeezing her eyes shut— ready for the blow, the pain, bracing for—

Nothing.

The hand in her hair vanished into thin air, and from where she was huddled against the fence, she heard shouts and blows, and very familiar thwipping sound. She cracked a eye open, and nearly cried out in relief. Even in the dark, Maya could recognize the iconic black and red blur, doling out punches and kicks and spinning and jumping. But something seemed off.

Spider-Man was _quiet_. Much like Peter Parker, this new hero ( _so much smaller, faster, too_ ) was a wise-cracker, delivering jokes and wit alongside his blows. Something that just came with the mask and powers, New York mused. But here, he was deadly silent. He wasn’t holding back, either, and at this point, Maya was sure the red on his hands was no longer just a part of his costume.

“Hey,” she tried, voice shaky, but firm nonetheless. He didn’t seem to hear her, and Maya winced watching him swing an uppercut that knocked the leader’s red cap right off his head.

“Hey!” The man was done for, clearly, and his inebriated state didn’t make him much of a threat, as his weak attempts to fend the hero off were batted away with ease. But the masked man ( _boy?_ ) kept on, standing over the fallen man and ready to go again.

“Spider-Man! Stop!” He froze. “Please.” Maya pleaded. “You got them.” Spider-man slowly lowered his fist, his back to her, and she noted with surprise the muted shaking of his shoulders. But she said nothing, and was surprised with herself especially for not bursting into tears. Instead she felt rather numb. _Shock_ , the med student in her diagnosed.

The hero’s hand shot out a thin string of web to pull something out of one of the men’s hands. “Um,” her savior uttered, and she jumped.

Maya watched, as he shuffled over to her, awkwardly ( _awkwardly? such a stark contrast to what she had just witnessed, a fluid performance of grace and acrobatics, like a memorized dance he performed every night—which he practically did._ ) and crouched and held out something to her. Her scarf, she realized, its pale yellow bright in his black and red glove.

“Here.” He wouldn’t look at her, the whites of his mask slitted, and his head tilted away from her. For a moment, she thought it might be embarrassment from having lost control of his fists—and his temper—and then it struck her. _Her hair_. He must have witnessed what had happened, and was trying to be respectful. The gesture, small as it was, made a swell of warmth rise in her chest. Blinking back tears of gratitude, she took it, and he stayed turned away from her until she had fixed her hijab into place. A moment passed.

“Okay. You can look now.” He turned back to face her, and Maya swore she could see concern in those big bug eyes of his.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” He scanned her up and down, and seemed to cringe with his whole body when he caught sight a scrape that tore through her sweater at the elbow. “I tried to come as fast as I could.” The hero’s voice was tinged with regret.

That startled a laugh out of her, just a tad hysterical, and the spider seemed to grow just a little more concerned. “Are you kidding me? You saved my life!” She breathed. “Thank you. So much. I don’t know what would have happened to me.”

“It shouldn’t have happened at all,” he muttered darkly. But then he shook his head. “Would you like me to swing you home...?” The hero trailed off, back to that awkward part of himself, and Maya could almost coo at how painfully sweet this Spider-Man was.

“Thank you very much, but...” He seemed to realize his mistake, and straightened.

“Could I walk you instead? You really shouldn’t be alone. “ A timid smile was drawn out of her and Maya graciously accepted. After calling the police to pick the men up and leaving her information, they were on their way.

And together they walked the streets of Brooklyn, Spider-Man regaling her with stories of his big fights and inputing witty commentary that made her laugh until she was breathless.

And when she was home and safe in her bed, she closed her eyes to the thought of Brooklyn’s favorite spider, and the sound of his laughter.


	3. apples don’t fall far from the tree

Yes, Enrique Sanchez had been fan of the “OG” Spider-Man as the youth dubbed him nowadays. He’d known him for years, remembered the day Peter Parker made his very first appearance as the heroic web-slinger of New York.

The first time he had met Peter Parker in the mask, he’d swung in and saved his daughter from a runaway garbage truck. The driver had passed out, and his daughter had wandered just out of arm’s reach. He remembered screaming for his daughter, reaching out and vaulting over his fruit stand and his hand had been so close to hers but not close enough.

* * *

 

_“Elena!”_

_And in a haze of blue and red the garage truck slammed to a sudden stop, caught midair by red and blur figure that had appeared out of nowhere, just two feet in front of his daughter. The strangely dressed man grunted with the impact, straining under its weight as the truck’s momentum rippled through his body._

_The truck rose higher and higher, almost perpendicular to the ground. Enrique watched in awe as the man took on the truck’s full weight, and was brought to one knee. With a loud, mechanical groan, the truck tipped backward and landed on all four wheels. The echoing thud was deafening in the silence. The red and blue clad figure stood shakily, panting hard._

_“Is everyone all right ?”_

_The crowd murmured among themselves, a good number filming and snapping photos. Enrique himself was still with shock._

_“I’ve heard about this guy...”_

_“Reports in Manhattan—“_

_“Calls himself ‘Spider-Man’...”_

_This ‘Spider-Man’ turned suddenly, and bent down to be at eye-level with Enrique’s little girl. He reached out a hand, his white lenses wide and filled with earnest._

_“Are you alright, miss?” His sweet angel gaped at this strange, new person, and it was enough to drive Enrique forward to scoop Elena up, cradling her protectively._

_“Who-who are you?” Enrique stuttered out, slightly intimidated from the show of strength. The costumed man took a step back having sensed the civilian’s unease, and raised his hands in the universal gesture of peace and surrender._

_“Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!” And with that and a jaunty wave, he made some strange gesture with his hand and swung off into the sky._

_“Holy shit!”_

_“Yo, that’s crazy...”_

_“Thank god he was here...”_

_A year went by, and soon, all of New York knew just who the web-slinger was._

_The next time Spiderman swung around, Enrique made sure to call him over. And much to his surprise, he listened. Swinging off the street lamp with a graceful backflip, Spider-Man landed neatly on the sidewalk in front of him._

_His head tilted to one side._

_“Is everything alright, sir?”_

_To be quite honest, the vendor was shocked he had actually managed to catch the superhero’s attention. He floundered under the gaze of those wide lenses, trying to search for the words that had suddenly escaped him._

_“Uh, no, erm, yes, yes—everything is okay. I just...” Enrique pulled his cap off, twisting it with both hands. The gratitude from the hero’s actions that fateful day choked him, had him clearing his throat._

_“I just wanted to...say thank you.” Spider-Man’s eyes widened a tad._

_“You saved my daughter’s life, that day.” A tremor rose in his voice. “You know, she starts in kindergarten today,” he tried to explain as best he could with the broken english he knew. “She is my life. And I... you are a good man, Spider-Man. I don’t know how else to pay you—“_

_Peter Parker had tried to refuse, but Enrique insisted. And so, every other day, the wall-crawler swung by to snatch a banana, and occasionally stuff bills into the tip jar, much to Enrique’s displeasure._

* * *

 

And then came the news. He’d been outside with his fruit stand, and watched the screens along with the rest of New York. And he mourned with them. Some days, he half expected to see Spider-Man sailing through the sky, only to remember. His daughter had cried for three days, inconsolable.

And then. Brooklyn _glitched_. Like. Like a _video game_. And New York just kind of...shrugged at it. Every alien invasion, super villain battle, and world domination mayhem always happened to start in New York. Just another day.

But then it happened more, and _buildings_ with _people_ inside started meshing and mixing and being crushed together. Ordinary citizens started glitching, too. The people grew uneasy.

Normally, Spider-Man would have swung in to fix it at this point. But they buried their spider only a week ago. The police had no idea what was even happening, much less how to stop it.

And then.

And then someone screamed, pointed at the sky. Someone had jumped. Which wouldn’t have caught many eyes but then— _he swung back up._

The whole of Brooklyn was witness to the birth of another Spider-Man.

Smaller, but faster. Wittier, but more awkward. New colors, too, and with clothing on top that only emphasized his gangly limbs.

Fisk was webbed up for his crime of almost bringing the multiverse down on their heads, and this new Spider-Man waded through the crowd with high fives and peace signs. The crowd welcomed him, cheering and recording. He was one of them. Everyone cherished this spider.

There was something different about this one—fresh and not quite used to the shoes he was filling. But he tried so very hard, and it meant everything to New York.

So when the latest bad guy shot a plasma beam into the side of building he’d been fired from right before Spidey knocked him out for the count, the enormous chunks of debris rained down on the people below.

Two things ran through Enrique’s head.

One: _I am getting too old for this._

And two: _After twenty years of selling fruit, New York will finally destroy my stand. Ay, díos mío._

Not to mention it would also end his own life but he’d seen so many world ending events in his time, Enrique was just resigned at this fact. Until—

_“Heads up!”_

Something snagged the back of his coat and yanked him back. His stand was unfortunately destroyed. And he fell straight onto his _culo_ , dammit. Ow. His pain was made known apparently as present day Spider-Man kneeled in front of him.

“ _Mierda_ , sir, are you okay? Should I— call an ambulance? Do you need—can I help you up?” The young spider was up in his face, his white eyes glittering with worry. Enrique had a vague sense of deja vu. But also—

 _“No maldigas chamaco!”_ (Don’t swear, kid!)

To Enrique’s own shock at what came out of his mouth, he came to some realizations. Let’s review—

He’d just called Spider-Man kid.

Spider-Man spoke Spanish?

He’d just scolded Spider-Man. And Spider-Man (kid) shrank back just a little, and those gleaming eyes went round.

And then—when it couldn’t get any weirder, the kid sputtered:

_“Lo siento!”_

They stared at each other. People around them paid them no mind, helping each other up and brushing plaster and glass off the hoods of their cars. Sirens wailed in the distance.

Then Spider-Man blurted: “Gotta go!”

And vanished into thin air. Huh.

The next time the kid came around on patrol, Enrique put two fingers to his mouth and whistled.  _“Chamaco! Ven paraca!”_  (Kid, come here!)And nothing else. He knew the boy would come.

Spider-Kid was true to form, and landed in the alley behind him, silent and wary.

“ _Mira, que te lo voy a decir solo una vez.”_ (Look, I’m only gonna tell you this once.)

The hero straightened his shoulders just a bit, and Enrique almost chuckled. But first—

“ _Cuando tienes hambrita, vas a parar aquí.”_ ( When you’re hungry, you stop here.) _“No me vas a pagar.”_ (You will not pay for it. )

 _“Necesitas frutas para crecer con esos músculos.”_ (You need fruit to grow those muscles.)

 _“Me entiendes?”_ (You got that?)

A blink. _“Sí, señor.”_

The vendor bit back a grin. _“Eso sí, chamaco.”_ (Thatta boy. )

Enrique turned and wrapped his hand around a plump apple and tossed it lightly. The boy caught it with ease, eyes impossibly big.

 _“Ya acabé”_ (I’m done.) _“Cuídate.”_ (Take care of yourself.)

The spider took a step back, then another, then another, and took off, soaring. Hmmph.

“ _Dios ayuda este niño si me da un tip.”_

(Lord help that child if he tries to give me a tip.)


	4. a beautiful sadness runs through him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I haven’t updated in a while. That’s for a reason, though. This chapter was the hardest to write so far. Mostly because it’s some very heavy topics, and it also wasn’t turning out the way I wanted it to go. 
> 
> Seriously. This chapter has trigger warnings for (implied) suicide attempt, (implied) suicidal ideation, (mentioned) shooting, racial bias and death. Just, ugh. Sadness all around. So be careful and enjoy this chapter.

New York looked especially beautiful at night. A city on fire, ablaze with lights and advertisements and signs.

Brooklyn was his home. He’d grown there with friends and family. Family. His brother’s face, Simon, flashed through his head; the familiar ache of loss echoed in his chest.

Simon Jackson. He was four years younger than him. He had a gap between his teeth. A birthmark on his finger. He was a Virgo.

“I’m sorry.” Markus whispered into the air, like so many times before. And New York, the world, just stared back and said nothing.

His mama broke after the news. A year to this day, and there are moments where she shuts herself away, and refuses to come out for hours. Markus has to make dinner on those nights. Helps her to the bathroom. Makes sure she’s comfortable for bed. Then in the morning, she is in the position he left her in the night before. He kisses her forehead in farewell, and she doesn’t react.

And now, Markus, perched on the edge of the building, watched the world move on without him. Without his brother. He hated the world. He hated the judges, the police—hated the courts and the system. They broke his family. They stole his brother and broke his mom.

Simon was eighteen when he was shot. Full ride to NYU. He loved to paint. Loved to cook.

He was so lost in the swirling thoughts of his mind, Markus didn’t even register the figure that dropped silently behind him.

“Hello? Sir?” Markus jolted, and spun around, fingers clenching the ledge he was on tightly.

He leaned forward, precariously so.

“Don’t come any closer.” He glared at New York’s resident spider, and whipped his head back around before he could see his tears. “Leave me alone.”

“Hey.” The spider’s voice was soft. “Maybe we can talk? If you’re up for it?” His voice didn’t sound like it was coming any closer so Markus ignored it.

Cars blared below, angry honks and short lived frustration. The people looked like ants from up here. Small, and their daily problems even smaller. 

“It’s an amazing view, isn’t it ?” The hero continued.

“Yeah,” Markus murmured, “yeah, it is.”

“I like to sit up here, sometimes. Just watch the world, you know?”

He noted that the spider now sat on the same ledge, a good few feet away. 

“I see them, out there and living their lives and think— that could be me. But it’s not. Because I’m not like them.”

Markus snorted. “I don’t think there’s anyone else out there like you.”

“Oh, I think there might be.” Spider-Man retorted dryly, and Markus felt like he witnessed some kind of inside joke.

“But anyway...why are you up here? If I can ask.” The other hedged. The man froze up.

“Don’t matter.”

“Well, it matters to me,” the hero said quietly. Markus scoffed, shaking his head.

“Why?” He insisted bitterly. “Don’t you got some bad guys to beat up? Huh? Hand deliver ‘em to police, those dirty _motherfuckers_!”

“Hey, hold on—“

“You work with them, they just love you because you do their job for them—“ The man was getting worked up now. “Wrap it all up in a neat little bow while they out here killing my people!”

“So _no_ , Spider-Man, I don’t understand why you could _possibly_ care!” He screamed, rage and grief clashing in his chest, and it took him a moment to realize he was now standing on the ledge; the winds buffeted against his back, the city behind him.

“Maybe...you can get down from there,” the spider raised his hands slowly, also standing, “and we talk it out. Okay?” Desperation tinged his tone, but his voice was firm.

“ _Talk_.” He spat. “My brother, my baby brother is dead and you wanna talk. Big shot hero, how could you ever understand what’s it like?”

_How could you ever understand what’s it like?_

Spider-Man froze, hands still in place. He was silent for a moment, clearly struggling with something within himself. Very slowly, he stepped off the ledge, back onto the top level.

“I do understand what’s it like.” His voice voice was eerily devoid of emotion. “To lose someone you love.” 

The spiders shoulders were wound tight,; his arms lowered by his side. “He was my uncle. He. . . was the one guy I trusted the most, before I. . . well, became me. He always knew what to say, what to do. I could tell him anything.” His voice was soft, layered with sadness and nostalgia.

“He didn’t make the best decisions, but he was still family. My family.” And god Spider-Man’s voice sounded so young in that moment, vulnerable and cracking at the edges.

“I watched him die. In my arms. And even with all my powers. . .” Spider-Man looked past him, at the line of the horizon, and the climbing fortresses of Brooklyn.“I couldn’t save him.”

Markus was speechless, taken aback by what had been confessed to him, and surprised to find tears in the corners of his eyes.

“So.” The spider straightened his back, tilting his chin up, and for a moment Markus saw a reflection of himself, head high—shoulders raised— ready to fight through another day. And something just. . . snapped.

This new hero. . . He was just a _kid_. Small and new and learning the ropes. A kid, saving the city every other day, dealing and receiving blows just to come home to . . . what? A family, Markus prayed. Someone to care for their spider when he wasn’t out there saving lives. To protect him in the night, and makes sure he gets fed. 

And here he was, when he could be anywhere else in the world, trying to talk a man off the edge. (“ _Well, it matters to me.”_ ) When the kid’s own hurts were weighing heavy on him, he went out to risk his life for strangers. Markus tried to imagine his little brother, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and that was enough. 

“Please, sir. . . I know that it’s—it’s not exactly the same, but just, please— know you’re not alone. And I hope that I—“

The human lunged forward, off the unstable edge, away from the lights and the world and onto solid ground— and wrapped New York’s hero in a tight bear hug. Because quite honestly, _this kid needed one._

The spider stiffened in his arms, hands half raising and eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. 

“You’re. . . You’re not alone, neither.” Markus choked out into the top of the kid’s head. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to be here, but you are. Thank you. Thank you, man.”

The hero was stunned into silence. For a moment, Markus thought he would surely push him off. 

“ _I’m sorry about your uncle.”_

It was those five whispered words that broke him. Spider-Man curled forward ( _could he get any smaller?_ ) hands coming up all the way to wrap around his torso, burying his face into Markus’ hoodie. And god, the kid _trembled_ in his arms. He didn’t cry, nor said a word. Just shook like a leaf.

In the quiet night, the two mourned together in the glow of the city lights.


	5. sun comes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha...uh, hi. It’s been a while I know. Sorry! Hit major writer’s block with this chapter and had no idea where to go. But this story is dear to me and I refuse to give up. Thank you so much for all your kind words— they pushed me to finish this chapter. Please enjoy.

The day started out pretty well, actually.

Except for the guy dressed as a giant fucking Rhino (well, they have octopus and vulture down, these villains are really getting desperate aren’t they) who decided to run rampant in the streets of Brooklyn. His path was marked by footprints crushing the pavement like it was no more than fresh snow, and cars and taxis flew this way and that—launched into the air with his huge horn.

And people screamed, took cover, took videos— business as usual really. And then Spider-Man swooped in (“Hey, man, I hate traffic as much as the next guy but—“) to save the day. The size difference was almost comical but mostly a little concerning and Brooklyn may or may not have held its breath watching their new spider take on this monstrosity of a villain. Petty crime was one thing, but this guy was huge and dangerous and _ohmygod Spider-Man please be careful_ was the general consensus of New York.

But with a well timed zap and a witty one liner, the Rhino was webbed and detained and the city cheered its praise.

So yeah, the day started out well. Until almost a third of 29th Street collapsed into the sewer system, swallowing a handful of people and their resident hero.

That’s when things went south.

 

* * *

 

“Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?”

A concerned voice, firm and albeit a bit shaky, rang out through the darkness.

Fortunately, Spider-Man’s handy sixth sense had screamed at him, and he had enough time to spray the group of citizens up in a safe, thick cocoon of webbing. Not fast enough to save himself from a nasty fall— but the civilians were more important.

Speaking of—as the group clawed their way out of the sticky substance—

“Oh, my god—“

“What the hell just happened?”

“Spider-Man ?”

“Everyone, come this way!” Blue light filled the tunnel, its light source emanating from crackling electricity that wrapped around Spider-Man’s hand.

Murmurs of relief ripples through the people, as the small crowd gathered around where the spider was crouched. “Is everyone okay?”

The hero went around one by one, checking for any major injuries, and waiting for confirmations of solid health. One particularly tired-looking young woman, in a grey cardigan with a backpack slung over her shoulders asked, “How’d you know? That the street would collapse?”

Spider-Man straightened, head tilting to one side. “I didn’t.” He said simply. “I just...know when something dangerous is about to happen.” He tapped his temple with two fingers. “Kinda like a sixth sense, you know?”

“Can your sixth sense tell us how to get the hell out of here?” Interjected a disgruntled looking middle-aged man in a business suit, somehow through everything managing to keep his briefcase in hand.

“Uh, yeah. Right.” Spider-Man blinked, and scanned the area, searching for any gaps. The slightest entry of fresh air, or light, running through his heightened senses in a matter of seconds. “I’m not finding anything near by.” His eyes slanted into tilted half moons, like he was frowning in concern under the mask.

“What do we do?” An elderly woman questioned fearfully, clutching the hands of her husband.

“Shouldn’t we stay in place for fire and rescue?” A younger man dressed in darker clothing suggested, almost immediately setting off an argument.

“What and wait for hours? Days?”

“Days?! We’re not going to be here for days are we?”

“I have meetings to get to—“

“Meetings? I have work—!”

“Please, we should all just stay calm—“

“I have so much _Spanish homework_ —“

“Hey!” Their resident spider yelled above the rest, voice reverberating through the rest of the tunnel. “Everyone, just... cool it, okay? Can’t be freaking out. S’not gonna help anything.”

“Well, then, what do you suggest we do?” Sneered the businessman, lines of irritation etched into his face.

Under the mask, the hero’s lips thinned at the man’s tone, but he held his composure and looked around once more.

“We should probably start—“ Spider-Man began, and then the sky fell down on them. A ground shaking rumble tore through the tunnel, and cracks split the highest arching point into pieces. A buzzing sensation filled the back of the web-slinger’s head and his white eyes rounded in alarm as a large portion of the wall tilted almost menancingly. 

“ _Everybody move_!” The small group screamed and scrambled away, tripping and stumbling over each other as rubble rained down upon their heads. In his haste to escape the downpour, Business Guy shoved the young woman in the cardigan, sending her toppling. The wall cracked and split completely, rushing towards the ground and she screamed, balling up and shielding her head with her arms to brace herself for the hit. 

But it never came. The civilian woman peeked an eye open (when did she close them?) to find Brooklyn’s resident spider bent over her, quite literally bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Go”, he choked out. With a squeak, she slid out from under him, only to hit a dead end.

“Go where?” The elderly woman wailed, tears in her eyes. 

“We’ve been blocked in on both sides!” The boy in black cried out.

“Oh, Jesus,” the man in the suit swore.

“Can’t...hold it,” the hero grunted it. Already his arms were shaking, rock shifting on his gloves.

The woman in the cardigan turned to face him. “You have to.” Her eyes were shiny, but her voice was firm.“Spider-Man, we don’t have anywhere to run. If you let go, we will all die.”

“Die?” The boy squeaked. The old woman sobbed into her husband’s shoulder, and he smoothed a shaky hand over her back.

“I can’t.” The spider whined, eyes squinting in pain. 

“Well you better!” Business man snarled, “we’re only in this mess because of you!”

“HEY.” The girl whirled at breakneck speed, fury lining her face. “He’s the one who saved your worthless ass! Why don’t you make yourself useful and shut the hell up?”

The man sputtered, but was without retort, face burning red.

Hearing another whimper, she marched over to the hero and dropped to her knees. “You can do this.” She looked him in the eye. “I know you can.”

Spider-Man strained under the weight, eyes slanting into those scared half moons. 

“Is there anything we can do to help?” She asked softly.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Okay.” She pursed her lips, tucking short black hair behind her ears. “Well. I’m Mel. It’s a nickname, actually. But everyone calls me Mel.” She shrugged casually. Taking her example, the rest of the people gathered around, slow and wide-eyed, with the exception of the businessman who scoffed at them.

“I’m Judith,” the old woman said, smiling weakly with pink pearl lips. “And this is my husband, Gary.” Gary grinned kindly, nodded.

“Uh,” the younger kid started, “I’m Matthew.”

“Nice to...meet you.” Spider-Man forced out, trying to smile, but realizing they couldn’t see it. Smiling took energy anyway.

“Can’t believe this,” the man in the corner muttered to himself but he was ignored.

Mel watched in concern, the tension in the line of Spider-Man’s shoulders fairly evident. He looked so tiny, so thin against the wall of splintering rock, black and red suit stained with dust.

For a horrifying moment, the rocks shifted ominously, the wall groaning and moaning. Spider-Man keened, slipping down to one knee. His hands clawed, cracks emanating from his fingertips as the weight bore down on them.

Judith screamed, and Mel’s eyes went wide and the Businessman swore again. Oh, god. Mel thought. I’m gonna die here. 

“Nngh”, Spider-Man slowly straightened his back against the rubble, arms trembling with the effort. Small rocks worked free to clatter on the floor, and more dust slid out from cracking stone.

“Oh, god.” Judith whispered to her husband, who pressed close to her. “We’re going to die in here, aren’t we?”

“Please don’t say that,” Matthew paled, having overheard. “Guys. Everything is gonna be okay. Spider-Man will save us. Right?” He soared a desperate glance at the hero.

“Nghnn. Kind of concentrating here.”

“O-oh. Sorry.”

Matthew sat down hard, curling up and gathering his knees to his chest. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. These kind of things just don’t happen to him. Nothing ever happens to him. He’s—a nobody. Some nobody fourteen year old freshman kid on his way to some nobody high school. He—he got to meet Spider-Man. The Spider-Man, and just his luck, he was probably going to get squished to death surrounded by strangers, in some damp, dark hole. With Spider-Man. Speaking of. . .

He lifted his head glumly to stare at Brooklyn’s spider. He was. . . smaller, in person. He almost looked like— a kid. No. Impossible. Right? His small costumed shoulders shook and wavered, his eyes narrowed to barely there white slits. He looked like he was panting under the mask.

_Jeez, he’s really strong_. Matthew thought absently to himself, then felt heat creep up on his cheeks. _Not the time, dude_.

Another earth-rattling groan shook the small space and Matthew gasped, glancing above in abject horror, Spiderweb cracks spanned over his head, small bits of debris rained down, sending the small group scattering like spooked mice to hug the walls. They were running out of time.

“E-everyone. I. . . think I have. . . an idea.” Spider-Man gritted out, fractionally lifting his head. “But. . . you need to do what I say.”

 

* * *

 

Above ground, the wrecked street was cordoned off with yellow police tape, cop cruisers and fire trucks parked sporadically on the remaining street. Clambering civilians gathered, curious and concerned, murmuring amongst themselves. Spider-Man went down with the collapse, they say. Hasn’t come up for forty five minutes now. Is he trapped? _Is he alive?_ Went unspoken. No one dared entertain the notion.

He’s come back from worse. Parallel dimensions, and giant creatures. New York’s police force. And other monsters. Surely—the Rhino of all people, wouldn’t take him down. No. Not their spider. 

Someone screamed, “ _Something’s happening_!” And it was like kicking a hornet’s nest, a flurry of activity followed, officers and fire fighters and search and rescue alike scuttling back and away and “ _Everybody get back, it’s not safe_!” Because they already lost a handful of civilians to the destruction, and Spider-Man and the last thing they need is for more people to disappear.

Brooklyn’s people watched, horrified, hopeful, as the rubble churned and trembled and sparked. Bright blue tendrils danced around the rocks, around giant pieces of rubble, and the air charged with electricity. Goosebumps raised on people’s skin, the hair on the back of their necks rose, similar to the feeling in your fingertips when your rub your socks on carpet or your head on a balloon. Radios screeched and TVs went haywire, something powerful interfering— destructive and familiar.

It was deathly still for a moment. Then the debris exploded up and outward, and the people screamed, shielding themselves and crouching but the rocks seemed to turn to dust. Coughing ensued in the cloud of cement particles, the crowd gave a wide birth. Stones clattered, police sirens wailed.

But the dust cleared. The crowd settled. And standing on the only piece of untouched,not cracked street, was a young woman, and a boy dressed in black, holding someone between them, their arms slung over the pair’s shoulders. All three, wobbly and painted with dust, staggered forward. The figure in the middle lifted his head, and those white eyes gleamed in the sunlight. The crowd broke into a cheer.

Behind the trio, three more people stumbled into view. Policemen, and search and rescue slumped in relief. The same amount of people who vanished had reappeared. Zero casualties.

Slowly, Spider-Man unwound himself from the young man and woman, shakily stepping forward. He glanced back and offered a grateful nod to the woman. Said something no one could parse out and she smiled, said something in return. A wavering fist held in the direction of the boy on his other side, who blushed and bumped it with his own.

He dusted himself off best he could, took a running start, and launched himself into the bright, blue sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one is the last one. I’m kind of sad about it, aha. It’s been such a journey with you guys. If y’all get any ideas or plot bunnies you want to see of ITSV, hmu with them. I’ll see you all one last time for the next one. 
> 
> Also! Had a little small bonus of this chapter, let me know if you want that posted, maybe I’ll make a separate series of bonus stuff from this work. Lmk what you guys think :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tell me a story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18253226) by [FamRoyalty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FamRoyalty/pseuds/FamRoyalty)




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